


Where the Lines Overlap

by lazarus_girl



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught up in the whirlwind of their newfound popularity and the pressures it brings, Amy struggles to keep her feelings for Karma in check. When they’re invited to Shane’s costume party as the guests of honour, what’s real and what’s fake between them gets even harder to define.</p><p>
  <i>“Her entire world is rendered in different colours now.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Lines Overlap

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere around 1x04 –1x06. Some play with and expansion of canon. References Amy/Jasmine, Amy/Oliver, and Karma/Liam, but Karmy are the focus. Inspired by [this](https://40.media.tumblr.com/6e04c7fb19fe6f7de214436a1106610d/tumblr_nav9pxQEd11txkikoo1_1280.jpg) picture of Katie Stevens, Amy’s love for Netflix, and my love of Vauseman and _Orange is the New Black_. No in-depth knowledge of the show is needed to enjoy this. Title from the Paramore song of the same name. Thank you, as always, to [Team Beta](http://lazarusgirl.tumblr.com/post/95992203951) for their beta skills and cheerleading.

***

 _“Why must all these wonderful plans be merely a figment of my imagination_  
_and reality offer me only pain and frustration everywhere I look?”_  
Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_

***

It was better when they were invisible. It was better when their social circle consisted of each other and no one cared about them. High school was just a means to an end. Something to be endured until graduation until they can get the fuck out of Austin and find people of their own age that are tolerable; somewhere bigger and better, where she never has to hear the words ‘Christian Mingle’ again.

Until the pep rally, and Karma’s ridiculous plan to be fake lesbians, they were little more than wallpaper at Hester, and she was fine with it. She was fine with no one but Irma the lunch lady really knowing her name and that someone asking to borrow a pencil was the extent of her social interaction with anyone not called Karma. She could wear whatever came to hand, not caring if it didn’t really match. She could sit and read Kerouac on the quad undisturbed until Karma got out of class, knowing it was painfully hipster and not caring if everyone else thought she was a pretentious intellectual snob (she is). She could lie next to Karma during lunch and read _US Weekly_ ironically, sprawled on the grass, laughing at their own stupid jokes and pointing out everyone’s bad outfits.

No one else but Karma mattered.

That’s still very much the same, but everything else has changed and it’s entirely her own fault. They could’ve ended it there and then in that gym and let themselves be unmasked as hideous frauds they are, but she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it _because_ Karma matters to her. Karma’s happiness matters to her. Right now, that happiness comes in the shape of Liam Booker, so she had to sweep in and rescue her with a kiss to seal the deal, saving them from a very public form of social suicide.

White knight she might be, but she’s most certainly fallen on her sword.

Now, they’re painfully visible; like a flashing neon rainbow sign. She feels that way even when they’re apart, because they’re looking at the Karma-shaped space to her left, wondering why she’s not there. Her social circle has grown exponentially, and not just because Shane Harvey, the most popular boy at Hester, has publicly backed their campaign to be homecoming queens. Everyone, and she means _everyone_ , knows her name – and no one misspells Raudenfeld anymore. She has to plan her outfits with Karma over the phone so they complement instead of clash, and they always have to wear the same shade of lip colour so it doesn’t look weird when it smudges during their frequent organised moments of PDA. Now when she reads on the quad, she can feel hundreds of pairs of eyes watching her, and there’s been a sudden upsurge of people walking around with copies of _On the Road_ , grinning at her conspiratorially. Her pretentiousness seems to have become a thing if Oliver James following her around like a lost puppy is any indication.

Everyone has all these expectations, and it feels like she can’t even breathe anymore without someone taking note of it. There’s even a ‘Karmy’ tag on Vashti Nadira’s stupid _fucking_ blog. They’re a portmanteau. The teenage (fake gay) Brangelina. She doesn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed.

Karma loves their newfound status. They get invited to _everything_ and it’s a big deal when they show up. For the first time in her life, they go out on a Friday and her Netflix queue is untouched. It’s exhausting. This Friday, Shane’s throwing a costume party, and of course, they’re the guests of honour. The flyer he gave her is still hanging in her locker where Karma stuck it, right next to a picture of them posing for their last costume party endeavour, Dorothy and Scarecrow from _The Wizard of Oz_.

There’s pressure from all sides, and it’s starting to wear on her.

At school, people anticipate her behaving a certain way towards Karma and they’re both terrified of disappointing anyone for fear of being found out, so, she just goes along with whatever Karma says. They haven’t set any boundaries, and she really, _really_ wishes they had, because she’s equally terrified of how far Karma will want to take this. At home, the lines are blurring even more than they already were. She doesn’t know what’s fake and what’s real anymore. Ever since that first kiss, it’s like a tiny trapdoor has opened in her brain that shows her somewhere new and exciting, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shut it again.

Her entire world is rendered in different colours now.

Things she used to think were normal for close friends to do have extra weight, and things that never felt awkward before now do. She lies with her head on Karma’s chest while they watch Netflix. They hold hands at the dinner table. They kiss each other hello and goodbye and it feels as natural as breathing. When Karma sleeps over, she gets ready in the bathroom instead of in front of her like the million other times before. They always wake up wrapped around other, no matter how they start off the night or how much space is between them in her bed. Sometimes she finds herself watching Karma sleep, heart thudding in her chest as she inches closer to touching her hair, her face or waking her up with a very un-fake good morning kiss. And the weirdest thing of all? Karma would probably kiss back.

She’s screwed. Royally screwed.

In the brief moments during the day where they don’t share classes, Karma’s been texting her incessantly with suggestions of who they can go as this time, determined to “maximise the opportunity.” Every one of them has been terrible, vetoed within seconds. It’s getting down to the wire now, especially given how much Karma invests into these things. On Monday, it was Bella Swan and Rosalie Hale, and the death glare she gave Karma from the lunch line said it all, not even her later suggestion of Buffy and Faith made up for it. On Tuesday, it was Roger and Jessica Rabbit, and the thought of Karma in that dress was just a little _too_ much and earned her an even scarier death glare from Mr Henderson when she spaced during his math class. Today, there’s been nothing as yet, and she’s wondering if Karma’s finally admitted defeat.

***

Right on cue, when she’s switching books between classes, waiting to meet up with Karma before homeroom, her phone buzzes in her pocket.

_xxKarmaxx: OK, OK, I’ve finally got something! You’re gonna love it I promise._

She smiles to herself, leaning back against her locker, texting back quickly.

_I’m NOT wearing pink!_

Nine times out of ten, she actually loathes the thing Karma is sure she’ll love, but there’s always that one time where it’s the most perfect thing in the world (sometimes it’s just perfect to her because Karma loves it). Just like she knew it would, a smiley emoji from Karma follows just as fast. There are few people in the world as obsessed with _Mean Girls_ as Karma, well, except for Shane. Last week, she witnessed them do their own version of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ out on the quad to rapturous applause. Karma made her film it for posterity and Instagram.

She’s watched it a few times since, right before she goes to sleep, eyes drawn toward Karma every single time.

_xxKarmaxx: As much as I would love to be the Cady Heron to your Regina George, honey, guess again. It’s totally better. Be right with you xxx_

(The kisses in the texts are a habit. How they make her heart soar is a new development)

She lifts her head in time to see Karma running across the quad, which is hilarious in itself because Karma never runs for anything, except for concert ticket lines, sales at her favourite stores at the Lakeline mall, calling shotgun when Zen used to drive them around, and securing her favourite spot on Amy’s living room couch.

“Hey you,” Karma greets her brightly, cheeks flushing a shade of pink Amy can’t help but think is pretty. She’s seeing a lot of things differently lately.

“Hey yourself,” she smiles back, pocketing her phone.

“Can I put my history book in your locker? It’s really heavy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Karm, it’s literally about ten steps that way.”

“Please?” Karma pouts, and she’s suddenly defenceless.

“Give it here, God!” she groans, relenting, taking it from her and grudgingly putting it inside, barely able to shut her locker without leaning right against it.

There isn’t actually a lot of space left in there these days, because it’s full of Karma’s stuff instead. She’s always been powerless to resist that pout, even before they became fake girlfriends. Karma uses that to her advantage. A lot. She could probably commit murder on the strength of that with very little cause.

“You’re the best,” Karma beams, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss Amy’s cheek.

It’s a surprise, given that there’s barely anyone around except a few burnouts and that Goth kid who gave them muffins from his lesbian moms. They’re getting too used to this, too comfortable. It’s dangerous.

“What’s this great idea?” she asks, trying not to dwell on the moment.

“I think it’ll appeal to your desire to be comfortable in social situations,” Karma begins, linking arms with Amy and guiding them both across the quad.

“Karma …”

“But,” she holds up a finger, cutting her off, clearly having rehearsed. “It’s culturally relevant, and fitting in light of our new social standing.”

“Karma!”

“Fine!” Karma exclaims dramatically, stopping dead right before the school entrance, “Kill my pitch, Raudenfeld!” she takes a breath, pausing for effect, wheeling around to face her. “How about being the Chapman to my Vause?”

She tilts her head, considering. “Actually, that’s kind of cool.”

Compared to earlier options, it _is_ cool. They binge-watched the whole first season pretty much all in one go when Karma was on a mission to “educate her about lesbian media representation,” and queued everything Netflix had. It’s the only thing they watched together that didn’t leave her terrified, teary or insanely depressed. It made her laugh, and develop a not-so-subtle crush on Laura Prepon. Piper and Alex have crazy chemistry, but they’re seriously fucked up. Given her current situation – though decidedly more vanilla – it’s apt.

Karma beams. “It won’t take a lot of work, I even have the glasses. We’ll be comfortable when everyone else isn’t, and we can totally still hold hands in public,” she continues, blurting it all out in one excited ramble.

It’s kind of adorable.

“Wow, you really _have_ been thinking about this! Is there going to be a dossier?” she jokes.

“Fuck you! I like to prepare, OK?” Karma swats at her. “So, will you do it? Please say yes, it’ll be so much fun!” she continues, reaching over and playing with Amy’s necklace for no real reason, batting her lashes.

They’re standing much closer than they were before.

“Only for you,” she sighs, mouth just curving into a smile. “You’re very persuasive you know.”

“So they tell me,” Karma grins, triumphantly. “Like I said Aims, you’re the best.”

Her voice is softer this time, more sincere, and before she realises, Karma’s lips are brushing against hers in a gentle, lingering, and entirely unexpected kiss.

“Wh-what was that about?” she asks, flustered, pulling away before she gets too into it.

“Just wanted to,” Karma shrugs, holding open the door for her. “After you,” she adds, with a grand sweep of her arm.

Amy’s sure she’s blushing a brilliant shade of red, but Karma doesn’t comment. She wants to say something, _anything_ to fill the silence and calm the butterflies swarming in her stomach, but she can’t. As soon as the door slams behind them, Karma changes. The moment – whatever it was – is gone, and she has to speed up to draw level with her so it doesn’t look weird.

“Ugh, I forgot to tell you,” Karma starts, taking Amy’s hand. It’s habit now, they don’t walk anywhere without doing it anymore. “Thanks to that stupid bitch Soleil, we couldn’t even be Rosalie and Bella if we wanted to! God, I hate her!”

Karma’s still talking, but she’s started to tune her out. She doesn’t mean to, but there’s only so many times she can hear things about Soleil Girard and Liam _fucking_ Booker – his middle name is Joseph, but whatever. How does she even _know_ that? – without wanting to scream at the top of her lungs or stab herself with the nearest sharp object, because she doesn’t _care_. Soleil’s a stupid, vacuous, faux hipster Barbie doll who Karma shouldn’t even threatened by at all, because she’s worth a hundred of her and is infinitely more beautiful. And Liam? Liam likes to pretend he’s brooding and mysterious, but he’s got about his much depth as a puddle. Oh, and he has no idea – not one idea – how amazing Karma is and how much he’s taking her for granted.

Between them, and Karma’s pick-up-put-down routine, she’s turning into a seething ball of jealousy, and she _hates_ it.

“And guess who her Edward is?” Karma continues, angrily, oblivious to everything else.

“Liam,” she answers, a second too late and slightly too monotone.

There’s her daily reality check. As if she needed it.

For as long as she can remember, there’s been an order to things. They’ve only ever really had each other and that was OK, but lately, Liam Booker’s leapfrogged her in Karma’s hierarchy of affection. She’s not the centre of Karma’s world anymore, and it hurts more than it should.

There’s a flicker of something in Karma’s eyes, maybe recognition, maybe not, and the hand that’s holding hers squeezes tighter. That’s why she has to carry on and endure this. In the end, it’ll go back to how it was before. It’ll just be her and Karma again.

Eventually.

***

It’s taken them forever to get to Shane’s house, even though they’re fashionably late at his behest. If sitting on the bus in bright orange scrubs wasn’t weird enough – she’s gotten serious sideways glances – the fact that Karma’s dyed her hair black just for the party is even weirder. She still kind of looks like herself and little like Piper, because she’s had the blue Vans she’s wearing forever. She could totally pass for Taylor Schilling if people squint, but Karma doesn’t look like Karma anymore; she looks like a miniature Alex and it’s messing with her head – she even has wingtipped eye make-up, and fake rockabilly tattoos that they spent hours applying in a bid to be authentic, but it’s the hair she can’t get past. It’s ridiculous to be freaked because it’s _just_ wash out dye, but right now, it feels like her whole world is off kilter.

The front door is open, bright light and loud music flooding out into the otherwise quiet suburban street, with Shane ushering all manner of characters inside. He’s dressed immaculately as the Danny to Lauren’s Sandy (because she and Tommy had another fight and he took pity on her). She and Karma look at each other and Karma mouths a ‘beautiful’ at her, and she nods because it’s true. It’s kind of obscene how pretty he is. It’d solve a lot of problems if he wasn’t incredibly gay and she wasn’t… a complete mess.

He shepherds in a Marilyn Monroe and an Audrey Hepburn, followed by Donnie Darko, Napoleon Dynamite, Robb Stark and two Jack Sparrow’s before he turns his attention to them, racing down the front steps to greet them.

“Ah my queens!” he exclaims, pulling them both into a tight hug. “Let me look at you!” he steps back, hands clasped together, looking them up and down. “I love it!”

“We try!” Karma singsongs, answering for them both. She does that a lot. “Look at you, stud!”

Shane pops the collar of his leather jacket and smiles smugly. Beautiful boy he might be, but he knows it.

“While we’re on compliments, your hair looks fucking amazing!” he coos, reaching out to touch the ends. It’s soft, super soft. She should know, she spent the better part of the afternoon running her hands through it to help Karma dye it.

Karma’s practically glowing with joy.

Shane and Karma high-five each other, and she immediately hates them both because she _knew_ it. They’re in this together. Just the thought of what they could achieve with their combined power and plotting skills means is mildly terrifying. If given the opportunity, they could either run the country or start a cult. Maybe both.

“And those glasses are totally super sexy librarian.”

She finds herself nodding, trying her best not to recall a very un-friendly dream she had about Karma a few weeks ago when she proved that sexy librarians are actually a thing.

“I don’t know why you don’t wear them all the time.”

“Vanity!” she quips, and Karma jabs her playfully in the ribs, glaring. “Hey!”

Shane looks between them both, smiling that ‘I adore you’ smile of his. “Orange is so your colour,” he declares, winking at her. Way to be subtle.

“It’s,” she pauses, looking down herself, feeling massively overdressed when a group of cheerleaders pass them dressed as the girls from _Whip It_ in tiny roller derby outfits, “comfortable.”

“Honey,” he begins, squeezing between them, hands on their shoulders as they move toward the house. She’s forced to let go of Karma’s hand for the first time. “There are few people who could pull off a make-up free evening. You have enviably clear skin. If I didn’t love you so much I’d hate you!”

“See, I told you!” Karma counters, smiling at her. “Gorgeous.”

“The hatred comes later,” she laughs nervously looking anywhere but at Karma. Shane just makes this face at her like she’s the cutest thing in the world. “Karma’s just good at hiding it, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t her freckles adorable?” is all Karma says in reply, tapping her on the nose.

If she wasn’t embarrassed before, she is now.

She should be used to the switch, but she’s not. That moment when Karma Ashcroft her best friend disappears, and gets replaced by Karma, one half of Karmy. The worst thing is, she doesn’t have to perform like this for Shane, not now he knows the truth, but maybe she doesn’t know how to turn it off anymore.

Amy forgot how to do that a long time ago.

He leans closer, expecting, and she instinctively steps back. “Oh get away from me Amy. You’re so gorgeous it’s disgusting!” he shoves her gently.

“Come on my little Park Slope narcissist!” Karma laughs mimicking Alex perfectly before pulling her into the house.

“Holy shit, that’s good!” Shane remarks.

She doesn’t know how she’s still standing, because _Jesus_ , that’s the hottest thing she’s ever heard.

Until recently, she never realised how much time she spends tacking obediently behind Karma while she gets reluctantly dragged to or from one thing to another. Maybe Oliver isn’t the only one who’s the lost puppy dog.

When Shane presents them to the rest of the party, the cheer that goes up is so loud she can barely hear herself think. Overwhelmed, she looks over at Karma, and her whole face is lit up by the brightest of smiles.

Somehow, that makes everything worth it.

***

Unprompted, Shane gives them a little mini tour around his house. People are spread out everywhere, and she has no idea how he can be so trusting, but she gets the distinct feeling that you only dare to cross Shane once. It’s a nice place, with the kind of décor her mom and Martha Stewart would kill for, with family photos adorning every surface. All she can think is his parents must be some kind of big deal because there are trophies and certificates everywhere. Then, she remembers Shane’s little story about his mom and the trunk of sex toys, coupled with the fact that his dad is some sort of internet business mogul, and it all starts to make sense.

Sex really _does_ sell.

The amount of times she and Karma have looked at each other and mouthed ‘wow’ is kind of ridiculous. Every time they do it, he practically squeals with delight. He’s in full show-off mode and loving it. If it were anyone else, it’d be nauseating, and would totally turn her off, but it’s actually sort of weirdly endearing. What’s significantly less endearing is the fact he’s using this little tour to show them off too. He doesn’t need to do it, they’re not chasing the votes now, it’s all done, but still, here they are being paraded around like one of Lauren’s ponies. Popularity is a poisoned chalice.

“And this, my beautiful queens,” he announces grandly, knowing everyone is still rapt to attention, “is where the tour stops and the dancing starts!”

Another cheer goes up and the music changes when Shane gives a quick little turning signal. They’re back in the living room now, and it feels like it’s taken hours to cover what’s a relatively short distance, because they kept getting stopped by people to take selfies of them in their outfits and compliment them. It looks like every parent’s worst nightmare in here, even the liberal ones like Karma’s. She’s sure that Ryan Teller from her math class just walked past her with a bong. Not an unusual occurrence, but he’s dressed as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, so she suddenly feels like she’s dropped straight into a Kubrick movie or she’s Alice, just landed after falling down the rabbit hole. Even Karma looks surprised, and they have been known to take barest hit of one of Zen’s joints when they all hang out in his tree house-turned-den.

She looks around for Shane, expecting something more, but he’s already disappearing into the mass of other partygoers. When people move, all she registers is a quick flash of his customised T-Birds jacket. He’s dancing – pogoing really – with Ivy. She’s dressed as Jane Lane from _Daria_ and Shane’s already persuaded her to switch jackets. They don’t seem to care that people might think they’re being silly or weird. That’s how it used to be with Karma before her desire to be popular kicked into high-gear and turned both their lives upside down.

Now the focus of the room has shifted away from them, she just feels awkward and weird. She’s always kind of felt awkward and weird because when puberty hit, it hit hard. She got boobs first (much to Karma’s annoyance), and she grew three inches in one summer, so she couldn’t share clothes with Karma anymore. It’s been downhill ever since if she’s honest. If Shane and Karma think she’s gorgeous, then she really does need to get the prescription in those glasses checked, and he needs to limit his hairspray exposure.

“Deep breaths, calm thoughts,” Karma says softly, curling Amy’s hair around her ear and whispering into it, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Amy swallows hard, trying not to react, feeling her skin prickle when Karma’s fingertips brush her forearm in a very un-Alex way.

“You owe me several,” she replies, trying her best not to glare.

She looks back at Shane and Ivy and feels oddly jealous.

It’s going to be a difficult evening, lots of smiling and biting her tongue, because she’s not allowed to hate this or anyone else anymore. She’s supposed to love the Hester populace as much as they love her. Now she gets why Lauren is so antsy all the time. Everyone who looks like a friend can also be an enemy. Lauren is looking at them both from across the room, sipping on a drink, standing with the DJ, one of Shane’s older friends. Her eyes are agleam, looking like she’s bursting to play a game of show and tell. Amy doesn’t feel so sorry that Tommy’s a total jackass to her now. Truthfully, she’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop; knowing there’s some silent ticking clock in her head that will one day run down. One day she’ll wage war, and get her revenge for what happened at the rally, using it against her to point score with her mom and Bruce. Lauren has to know much more than she lets on. The Jack-and-Jill bathroom is prime eavesdropping territory.

“God she looks amazing in that outfit,” Karma muses, and Amy blinks back surprise. “I wish I had the confidence to work something like that.”

She turns so fast to look at Karma, she almost gets whiplash. “But you could pull that off just as well. You’re beautiful, Karm,” she blurts out, immediately regretting it.

“You’re supposed to say that,” Karma sighs, disbelieving. “You’re my girlfriend,” she brightens, covering it with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Amy smiles in lieu of a reply, her witty retort quickly dying on her tongue, because she doesn’t know whether this is real Karma talking or her pretend girlfriend Karma talking, but she looks so serious, so lost and strangely _young_ all of a sudden that the former is more likely than the latter. Suddenly, she can’t breathe right. Suddenly, Karma is much too close for comfort. She’s really glad she drew the line at handcuffs when Karma mentioned them while outfit planning during homeroom, that’s all she can say. They usually stick to each other like glue at social events, but now she’s in desperate need of some space.

“Drinks, we need drinks,” she announces, mostly to herself, briefly looking over at Karma. “Want me to fight my way to the kitchen, risk a dose of HPV?”

“Please. Just to take the edge off?”

“Sure,” she nods. “Be right back,” she smiles, and before she realises, she’s kissed Karma on the cheek, stroking it with her thumb. “Try not to get into too much trouble without me!”

What just happened only registers when she’s a few steps away, still able to feel the weight of Karma’s stare. She’s still thinking about that kiss when she collides with a dishevelled looking Liam and Soleil on their way back in from the yard, and she can’t help but stare.

Typically smug, Soleil’s adjusting her skirt while Liam’s buttoning his shirt and looking incredibly guilty and pallid (which isn’t related to the excessive vampiric make-up job). She briefly wonders if their costume will be topped off with a baby doll like that creepy as fuck Reneseme thing, but it’s nowhere in sight. Constume and questionable make-up job notwithstanding, it's entirely possible that their own Renesmee has just been conceived. She has to stop herself gagging at the thought.

“Hey Amy,” he manages, tripping over all two of his words. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he continues, even more awkwardly than before.

She’s sure he’s bright red under all that undead make-up.

“Hey,” she replies, curt as Soleil pushes past her, headed for the vaguely toxic looking punch bowl that’s still being mixed by three guys dressed as Jesse Pinkman, Joffrey Baratheon, and Luke Skywalker. She takes two cups when they’re poured out, not even asking what’s in it, thrusting one into Liam’s hand. He’s so fixated on Amy, that he almost drops it.

Jesse – also known as Michael Weiss – is Amy's lab partner, and makes frog dissection fun and less gross, but he’s also Karma’s short-lived obsession in freshman year. She wishes she could say Liam was an upgrade. She wishes she could go back to the point in time where he was just a cute boy, a pretty distraction, who she didn’t want to kill on sight.

“ ‘Sup Amy?” Michael says, cocking his head. “Two for you and your girl?”

“Hey,” she replies, doing the same nod in reply, trying not to grin at his ‘your girl.' She’s not one for possessiveness, but she gets a weird kick out of the wounded look on Liam’s face when Michael says it. Less fun, is the wink she gets from Joffrey in response.

“Nice … outfit,” Soleil offers, obviously hating not being the centre of attention, looking her over before taking a very pointed sip from her cup.

“Thanks,” she smiles, thin and tight, somehow resisting the urge to strangle her. “Nice … hair extensions.”

Not her greatest comeback, but it’s surprisingly effective considering it looks worse than that hideous wig Kristen Stewart wore in _Eclipse_. Soleil’s eyes narrow, and the boys behind them at the punch bowl snicker. She gives them a nod and two glasses come her way, filled higher than Soilel’s, passed to her by Michael.

When Liam asks, “Where’s Karma?” Soleil’s mood darkens further, and she wraps a possessive arm around his waist.

“Right here,” comes a voice, and Amy resists the urge to punch the air.

“Karma!” Liam chirps, looking her over.

“Hey Liam,” Karma purrs, in her Alex voice, and he looks like Amy felt the first time she heard it – reduced to a puddle of mush. “Soleil,” she continues, decidedly less warm. “Love the costume.”

“Thanks, yours is very…” Soleil trails off, glancing at Karma, full of disdain. “Authentic.”

If things were uncomfortable before, now they’re even worse. Liam can’t take his eyes off Karma. He opens his mouth to speak, but holds back, giving a little wave instead. The way Soleil is glaring at them both, they should both be dead. It’s like some weird gunfight, but without any actual guns, and no one’s brave enough to draw first. She suddenly feels incredibly tense for no real reason.

“Got your drink, babe,” she smiles, offering the mysterious cup to Karma just to break the tension. Liam lets out a huge breath.

It’s a little heavy-handed – they quickly dispensed with the pet names because it just felt weird. Karma has sworn never to call her ‘sugar bear’ again. To her credit, Karma doesn’t baulk at it. Ever the professional.

“Thank God, I was dying of thirst,” Karma continues, with a knowing look when she takes the cup from her. “And missing you,” she finishes, taking off her glasses and resting them atop her head, just like Alex.

Before she can even think of replying, Karma attack kisses her, just like earlier in the week on the quad. Given the glasses move, she should’ve seen it coming, except, she’s not remotely ready. It’s not like the careful, chaste kisses they’ve shared before. The momentum of it pushes her right back against the counter, and she lets out a squeak of surprise at Karma’s forcefulness, dimly aware that her drink is starting to spill. Part of her, a very big part of her, knows it’s for show just to get under Liam and Soleil’s skin, but she doesn’t much care, not with the way Karma is sucking on her bottom lip and breathing into her mouth when she opens it fractionally. It’s just like the pep rally. Only better. There’s some cheering from the direction of the living room, and she can hear the boys behind them whispering variations of “fuck, that’s hot,” and she cares even less about that.

“Hey, Karma can you come and miss me too?” Michael asks, grinning when they break apart.

It takes her a few seconds to fire back a “Fuck you, Weiss,” in reply, because they’re still looking at each other in the same awed way they did at the pep rally.

Karma doesn’t say “Woah,” and she doesn’t say, “I know,” because she’s lost the power of speech, but somehow she still hears it. The fact she’s holding her cup still is a miracle.

Liam just stands there, mouth gaping like a fish, and it takes all her will not to smile. She’s still thinking about that kiss and the look on his ridiculous sparkly face when Karma’s dragging her back to the living room.

“Sorry for the ambush,” Karma whispers, when no one’s looking and Amy shrugs. “but kind of not, because that was _hot_ and because of Soleil’s face! I totally have the hottest girlfriend!” she laughs, light and bubbly. “Suck that, bitch!” she finishes, glancing toward the kitchen.

Amy still hasn’t regained that power of speech.

Karma isn’t sending her mixed signals anymore. They’re tangled up, knotted twice, back to front signals that hurt like hell and leave her not knowing which way is up.

“Oh, and you’re a really good kisser, just so you know.”

She blinks back surprise, “I am?”

“Totally,” Karma pauses, contemplating. “Your lips are really soft, and you kiss all gentle and slow and it’s just, like, really good,” she’s babbling and adding needless extra words, tripping over the other ones she’s choosing.

She’s only ever heard her talk like that about Liam.

If she were the kind to keep score to really draw in battle lines and call Liam Booker her enemy – which she can’t, she’s an imposter adversary and he’s the real deal – she’d chalk this one up with relish, but that would be childish. She’d be well within her rights to start a ticker-tape parade but then, her brain stops working completely and goes into the full on swooning she used to reserve for Josh Hoyt and Zac Efron … because did Karma just say what she thought?

“Thanks,” is all she can muster in reply.

“Did I use too much tongue?” Karma asks, a few seconds later when they’re still needlessly clinging to each other kind of swaying, kind of dancing to some nondescript _noise_ that’s meant to be music. “Suffocate you with it or anything?”

“Ugh, what? No!” she splutters, almost choking on the little that remains of her drink. “It’s fine,” she clarifies, recovering a little.

Not enough tongue, is all she can think, when Karma pulls away from her and starts to really get into the song. Not enough tongue at all. The more of herself Karma gives, the more of her she wants. Now she’s had a taste, she’s painfully aware of what she’s missing out on otherwise. Those boundaries she’s been so concerned with don’t seem to matter much tonight.

After all, that wasn’t her and Karma kissing, it was Alex and Piper, wasn’t it? Dysfunctional, tempestuous, sexy as all hell Alex and Piper. This might be the greatest idea Karma’s ever had.

***

An hour or so and many drinks later, she realises this is a supremely _bad_ idea. Karma’s been gone for most of that time, flitting back and forth between her and Liam; bee to honey whenever Soleil is out of sight, so she’s either bobbing and weaving around people looking for her, or craning her neck to find her when there’s too little room to move. Those same people keep offering her drinks, and really it seemed rude to refuse them. It’s given her hands something to hold and made her look busy when she otherwise feels like a spare part. Karma promised she wouldn’t leave her too long, but Karma promises her a lot of things she doesn’t always follow through on. She should be used to it by now, but they’re in public and they’re _supposed_ to be girlfriends.

Parties have never really been her strong point. She’s good one-on-one, but mass social interaction sends her into a weird panic, and she can never think of things to say. Her tolerance for drunkenness is low, because it turns perfectly sane people into idiots or sluts or idiotic sluts; and her tolerance for small talk is in negative values. How is anyone expected to immediately have things in common with people just because you happen to be the same age?

It wouldn’t be so bad if the music was decent. Don’t get her wrong, she loves a little Beyoncé and Rihanna like everyone else, and she’s been known to lose hours to dance battles with Karma playing _Dance, Dance Revolution_ to all manner of random songs, but there’s only so much of One Direction, Ariana Grande and Taylor Swift she can stand, and she hit that limit long ago. She could fix it of course, and play the music on her phone, but then she’d look even more of a social misfit than she already does. Quite the accomplishment when she’s dressed as a prison inmate.

Even Lauren is having a good time now, her scowl long gone because Shane is very much fulfilling his Danny duties, twirling her around and re-enacting ‘You’re the One That I Want’ enthusiastically to everyone watching. It’s nice to actually see her smile, because most of the time, Tommy’s an idiot and he makes her miserable. She can certainly sympathise.

On nights like this, sitting on her own on the corner of a couch, regretting her poor life choices while typing deleting and re-typing a text to Karma, she wishes that she’d listened to her mom’s suggestions to widen her social circle. It’s making her beyond uncomfortable and it’s completely depressing, but she can’t see this night ending too soon either. When Karma talks to someone she likes, she loses track of time, in fact she loses all sense of perspective, so it’s better Amy resigns herself to a lonely evening now. She was foolish to think it’d be any different. She has to wait it out, because she promised Karma she wouldn’t bail, no matter how bad it got, and unlike Karma, she’s _not_ in the habit of breaking promises.

When a gentle “Hey,” is offered in her direction, she looks up from her phone, seconds from starting another game of Fruit Ninja to see Oliver looking down at her.

He’s dressed as Harry Potter. A really good Harry. Karma would be impressed at the level of detail. Amy can already tell she’ll be back asking to try on his cloak whenever she appears again.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks, two cups in hand, smiling at her.

“Sure,” she nods, more than a little relieved to find a semi-kindred spirit in all this hormonal chaos. She pockets her phone, thankful for the interruption that means she won’t finish the message she was typing to Karma.

_I don’t think I can fake it anymore. This is hurting too much. I want my best friend back …_

“You looked like you could use some company,” he says, sitting a respectable distance away, “And a refill.”

She smiles genuinely for the first time in a while. “Perceptive.”

“Young wizards are very astute, you know,” he nods, passing her the cup. “I think that’s beer. It smells like beer, I can’t say what it’ll taste like.”

“Oh, I don’t think that matters too much, does it?” she replies, flinching when she takes too big a sip.

It’s terrible. Even worse than that weird punch she ended up drinking earlier. In her head, she hears her nana, sagely telling her about the perils of mixing drinks. She ignores the voice and continues to drink anyway. It’ll take the edge off that Karma was talking about, whatever the edge is.

“No,” he shakes his head, biting back a laugh. “Guess not. We’re erm, not the demographic for this are we?”

“I’m secretly eighty,” she replies, dryly. That’s not even true, her nana is much cooler than her, like Betty White and Jessica Walter all rolled into one. “I just hide it very well.”

“You look remarkably good for your age, if I may say so,” he offers casually. “Prison does wonders for a girl. Suits you, Chapman.”

“Thank you!” she replies, hand to her chest, lashes batting for effect. Sue her. She likes the attention. He’s sweet. Maybe a little try-hard, but sweet. “Didn’t peg you for a Potterhead.”

“Oh, you really _are_ a literary snob!” he exclaims. “It’s fun!”

“I am _not_ a snob!” she cries, affronted. It comes out louder than she intends.

“You read Kerouac and Rilke for fun!” he replies, giving her a knowing look. “Just so you know, I have time for Harry in between sessions of _Minecraft_ and re-watching _The Lord of the Rings Trilogy_ , right before I go LARPing.”

“Please tell me one of those was a lie?” a hand flies up to her mouth, barely able to contain her laughter. “No one can be that nerdy!”

“First,” he holds up a finger for emphasis, “I commend you for saying nerd instead of geek. Second, I’ve played _Minecraft_ for longer than is probably legal, but as for anything else, I plead the fifth,” he laughs, but it’s nervous, and he adjusts his glasses needlessly. “Third, this wasn’t my first-choice costume.”

“What was?”

“Umm,” he blushes deeply, clearing his throat. “Allen Ginsberg,” he admits after a moment, sheepish. “I figured no one would get the reference, so I’d just be a nerdy guy with glasses in a suit.”

She can’t help it, but her immediate reaction is to laugh. “Oh, _now_ who’s the snob?!” she shoves him playfully, her hand landing briefly on his knee.

“Touché. You can have that,” he tilts his head, as if tipping an invisible hat to her.

“So you figured you’d be a nerdy guy in a suit with a cloak, a wand, and a pretty cool fake lightning bolt tattoo thing happening?” she overlaps, trying to stave off another burst of laughter.

She’s not laughing at him; of course, she’s laughing with him. It’s nice.

“Pretty much, seems to be working except Leila came dressed as Cho and she keeps chasing me,” he makes a face, shuddering. “She’s a nice girl, but _God_ she’s persistent.”

“Well, if your wand won’t save you, I will,” she offers. “After all, I’ve been to prison. I can hold my own. I’m deceptively strong, you know.”

“Speaking of, where’s your other half?”

“My what?” she asks, confused. Then, it clicks in her head that he means Alex, or rather, Karma.

Suddenly, she doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. Over Oliver’s shoulder, she can see Karma in the next room standing close to Liam. He says something and she smiles, touching his arm. She’s never seen her smile like that before. It’s beautiful and it’s devastating. It breaks something in her that won’t easily repair.

“She’s having an in-depth conversation with Edward Cullen,” she replies, not bothering to hide her bitterness.

Oliver turns, following her eyeline. “Oh.”

She nods, because that says it all.

“Big _Twilight_ fan, huh?” he replies, wryly.

She laughs, but it’s empty. “Something like that.”

“Liam is your Larry?” he asks, looking back at her thoughtfully.

She panics, heart up in her throat, and she’s desperate not to give anything away. He has no idea how close to the truth he is.

“Something like that,” she repeats, but it doesn’t sound the same.

It’s all on the tip of her tongue. Yes, she wants to say. Yes, Liam Booker is a cockblocking asshole who’s getting in the way of her and Karma and she’s ruining a decade of friendship just so Karma can end up as a notch on his bedpost – the mere thought of that makes her want to throw up. Yes, Karma’s faking it, but she isn’t really sure anymore. _God_ it’s fucking killing her to be near Karma and not be near her. She doesn’t know how much more she can take.

“It’s a real shame that wand of yours can’t do any real magic,” she comments sadly as she drains the last of her drink.

“I wish it did too, Amy,” he says, quiet and sad.

They’re somehow sitting much closer than they were.

She holds Oliver’s gaze for a moment too long; she recognises the look in his eyes too well. It’s what she sees whenever she catches herself in the reflection of her bedroom mirror and Karma is just out of view. It briefly crosses her mind that she should kiss him again. The kiss at school could’ve been a total fluke, just a case of bad timing, not solid confirmation that she’s capital L lesbian or anything like that. Everyone thinks that already. Her mom, her nana, Frank the camera guy who covered the homecoming segment for WTXS where she accidentally fake outed herself – which was either idiotic or brave, she still can’t decide. The only one who doesn’t actually think she’s a lesbian is Karma. How’s that for irony? Who in their right mind turns down the advances of perfectly nice, datable boys like Oliver, for snatched moments with Karma, all orchestrated for the attention of someone else?

***

Shane appears out of nowhere, yanking her up from the couch with a quick, “I need you,” hauling her away from Oliver back toward the kitchen. She turns to see him still sitting there, still sad and confused.

“What the fuck?!” she exclaims, trying to wrestle herself from his grasp.

He’s stronger than she thought he would be.

“I’m saving you from Origami Potter and giving my Sandy a dance break,” he offers, matter-of-fact. “You’ll thank me later,” he chuckles a little to himself as he releases her. “I could see where that was going, and it wasn’t good place.”

It’s fractionally quieter than the living room, but it’s still hard to hear Shane without standing close to him. There are different people in here now, and the only reminder of the punch they all drank is the empty bowl. She’s not sure there’s enough drink in this house to quiet all the noise in her head.

“Who says?” she says, furious with him for sweeping in. She’s no damsel in distress. “I was fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“Sure you are, sweetheart,” he sighs. “I keep telling you, every time Karma looks up, you’re talking to me or him,” he comments, hopping up onto the counter, shrugging off Ivy’s jacket and rolling up his t-shirt sleeves. “She’ll never see either of us as a threat honey. I adore you, but I’m very, _very_ gay, and Oliver’s,” he tails off, shrugging, “Well, _Oliver_.”

She glances away, because he’s right and it’s fucking pathetic.

“If you want to make Karma jealous,” he begins, sweet and soft, like he’s telling her a huge secret, “you need to start mixing with the many eligible ladies in attendance,” he pauses, putting his hands on her shoulders, kneading a little, as if she’s _Rocky_ being prepped for a fight. “Show her what she’s missing. Eyes on the prize, Raudenfeld.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not missing me Shane,” she replies forlornly, craning to look at him. “And I’m not the prize she’s interested in.”

It’s not pretty, but it’s the truth.

“Well that’s awful bleak. I will not have this defeatist talk!” he scolds, turning her to face him. “Time to get your flirt on, girl.”

“You did see me at The Twain right?” she reminds him, cringing at the memory. “I suck at it.”

“Yes, I did,” he smiles. “OK, so it wasn’t the greatest of starts, but clearly you missed the part where most of the room wanted to eat you out for breakfast!"

“Shane!” she exclaims, making a face, because it’s way too strong an image to contemplate. “That’s gross.”

It’s not what she remembers at all. She remembers it being awkward and terrifying, because she had no idea what she was doing. Every word that came out of her mouth was wrong. She has zero game. Given how many hours of her life have been whiled away eating buckets of popcorn with Karma watching romantic movies, she should’ve at least absorbed something useful beyond acquiring a general disdain for anything remotely connected to Nicholas Sparks, but no. It was just one huge mistake from start to finish. If anything, she was more confused after her dabble into online dating than before.

“What? It’s true! Bees around the little honey pot that is you!” he’s still grinning, cradling her face in his hands like she’s precious.

Drunkenness seems to make him even more excitable than usual.

She likes him, she really does. He’s sharp and witty – much smarter than he lets on – without being obnoxious, and he’s turned into a really good friend and confidant through this whole mess. Most of the time, she thinks that deciding to tell him the truth about her feelings for Karma (or what might be her feelings) was one of her better decisions – a problem shared and all that – but when he’s in full fanboy mode like this, behaving like a one-man pep rally, she regrets sharing that part of herself. He says she’s Karmasexual, but she doesn’t understand that label any more than ‘lesbian.’

Shane likes projects, and right now, that project seems to be her. Maybe if he had a boyfriend or a crush of his own then he’d be less laser focussed.

“The worker bees are fine, everyone needs practice, but don’t think you can’t bag the queen, literally.”

“Karma?” she resists the urge to laugh. Karma gives her an _insane_ amount of mixed signals, but she’s not that delusional.

“Ding-ding. Winner!” he beams. “Not just a pretty face!”

“Fuck you!” she says, shoving him in the chest, and he pretends like it hurts.

She turns away from him and looks back toward the living room. Now she’s taken time to look, there _are_ a lot of girls. They’re all different and all pretty in different ways, like the girls at The Twain. It’s intimidating. She doesn’t seem to have a type, so she can’t narrow the field that way. She doesn’t know which one of them to talk to first or which one of them isn’t straight, so she can’t do any of that either. There’s no secret handshake, and no one is walking around with a neon sign around her neck. The odds are stacked against her already. No matter how long she spends looking, or how many of those girls smile back at her, it doesn’t feel the same as when Karma smiles at her.

Predictably, she finds her, in the middle of everything, talking to Lisbeth of all people while she sips idly on a bottle of beer. She’s got no idea why she keeps torturing herself like this, but she can’t help it. Karma’s not like everyone else, and she can’t help but be drawn to her. Then, even more predictably, Karma catches her staring, and she doesn’t know whether she wants the floor to swallow her whole, or if she should go over and join them. In the end, she just waves in this horribly dorky way. Lisbeth looks surprised, but smiles. Karma doesn’t look surprised at all and shakes her head, smiling before waving back.

She lets out a ridiculous dreamy sigh, and Shane hugs her from behind, whispering a “So cute!” and squeezing her tightly.

“So tragic, you mean,” she replies weakly, half to him, half to herself. She’s a lost cause, surely.

He’s desperate to see them together for real – maybe even more than she is – so he keeps dropping ridiculously unsubtle hints to Karma and crafting opportunities for them to get more time together. He’s always so positive that it bolsters her confidence and she imagines crazy things like confessing love in front of the whole school and them running off hand in hand while Shane holds up a stereo and Peter Gabriel plays – what? They’re on an eighties kick at the moment and _Say Anything_ is Karma’s favourite. They’d go down in Hester High history and probably get a whole fucking page to themselves come yearbook time. After graduation, they’d go to college in New York and live out Karma’s _RENT_ fantasy. Even though she already knows La Vie Bohème is actually très expensive. They’re likely to spend most of the time freezing their ass off and living on ramen while Karma busks in Union Square and she diligently films it, but she still wants to go.

(Not that she’s given this a great deal of thought or anything)

Ordinarily, she’d talk to Karma about all of this, like in middle school during the Josh Hoyt era, but she’s not sure how ‘I think I’m not fake gay in love with you’ would go over. OK, so Karma’s the least likely person to freak out – she made a lesbian _dossier_ for God’s sake, her parents are amazingly open and loving, and this is _Austin_ , but she doesn’t want it to change things between them. She doesn’t want it to be weird and awkward. She doesn’t want them to grow apart and end up playing out that miserable grocery line nightmare-turned-prophecy she can’t seem to shake. She can’t lose Karma, she can’t, but she also can’t stay as she is.

“I can’t,” she whines. “I’ll just make an idiot of myself again and get the inquisition from Karma after. Can’t I just go and talk to her instead?”

“No!” he declares, swatting her on the shoulder. “People are running around dressed as Spider-man and you’re worried about looking stupid?” She lets out a laugh at that, because he has a point. “Let Karma wonder, take back some control. Pick a target and strike!”

He’s right, of course he’s right – infuriatingly, he’s right a lot of the time – but all his enthusiasm and mixed metaphors are giving her a headache. She’s had to suffer watching Liam and Karma for weeks now. Even when she’s not there to see it, she gets to hear about it, because Karma never shuts up about him. Somehow, that’s worse, because her imagination gets to fill in the blanks, and it’s incredibly vivid.

“But who? It might’ve escaped your notice, but I’m not you. I’m not good at this stuff.”

“Well,” he starts carefully, hopping down from the counter. “That’s why I was in control of the invite list,” he continues, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Well, actually, it went a little viral thanks to an ill-timed Facebook post, but it worked out nicely in the end,” he lowers his voice, wary of who might be listening. “You might not know your type, Amy, but I’ve been around Karma enough to know what she’s insecure about. If seeing you all up on that doesn’t get her in competition mode, ready to win you, nothing will.”

He pulls her closer; kissing her cheek in this conspiratorial way, and suddenly, she feels nauseous. As soon as he says it, the whole room, no, the whole house takes on a different pallor. Most of the girls he’s invited are willowy and pristine, beautiful in that unearthly way that’s just too much. They’re variations on the same theme: Soleil _fucking_ Girard. Even in this not-at-all-drunk-enough-for-this-but-not-remotely-sober mindset, all she can think of is Judas Iscariot and that what he’s done – though obviously for her benefit – is just too cruel. Karma’s not like them, she’s not like them at all, and Amy’s glad of it. Karma’s perfect, even if she doesn’t believe it.

“No,” she states, barely able to hide her anger. “She’s not some fucking trophy to be won, Shane!” she spits out, eyes narrowing at him. “That’s not fair.”

“No Amy,” he fires back, matching her, “ _that_ isn’t fair,” he continues, turning her head to where he’s looking. “That isn’t fair to you at all.”

Soleil is nowhere in sight, Liam is dancing with Karma. More precisely, Karma is dancing _on_ him. They’re pressed close, moving in time to the Rihanna song that’s playing. Given what everyone thinks, she’d be totally within her rights as Karma’s girlfriend to march up and punch his lights out, or at the very least, yank Karma away and throw a drink in her sexy, smirking, fake Alex Vause-ing face. What is she doing and why does Amy even care? Why does every second they spend gazing at each other make her want to stab Liam in the throat? Where the _hell_ is all this rage even coming from? The last time she felt this irrationally murderous, she ended up in a food fight and Lauren’s precious croquembouche bit the dust. It was either that stupid cake or her stupid face.

(Maybe this costume isn’t so far-fetched after all)

But, she doesn’t _do_ anything this time. She just stands there, feeling anger rush her. She’s being used. Again. Karma is walking all over her. _Again_. At her sides, her fists clench, tempted to strike, and her face grows hot with embarrassment, because all those expectant people who voted for and love them with weird sort of zealous passion are starting to see what’s unfolding. Karma Ashcroft, being very un-lesbian and very much into Liam Booker.

“Whose side are you even on?” she blurts out, and regrets it.

She has to be careful now, because she doesn’t know how much of the whole ‘Liam Booker, secret boyfriend’ aspect of this Shane knows. He could know everything, he could know nothing at all, but going off the gossip she’s heard in the girls bathroom at school, Liam’s hardly discreet. He’s not being very discreet now either, with his hands on Karma’s hips, looking like he’s about ten seconds off kissing her.

“I’m Team Amy,” Shane informs her, casually. “All I want is for you to be happy. I’d just really like it if that happiness was shaped like Karma.”

Happy? She hasn’t been truly happy since this faking it mess started. Well, that’s not _quite_ true, There was that thirty or so seconds in the gym when they kissed with the confetti falling and everyone chanting their names. It was exciting. It was beautiful. It was blissful. It was the closest thing to heaven on Earth. She’s terrified she’ll never feel that way again.

“I’m not drunk enough to deal with this,” she admits.

“That, sweetheart, I can fix,” he offers, with a weak smile. “Some liquid courage coming up,” he reaches into his pocket and waves a tiny set of keys with a flourish.

He turns around and disappears under the counter, and for a moment, all she can hear is the rustle of empty cups and the faint jangling of empty bottles before something unlocks. She puffs out a breath, turning away from Karma and Liam. When she briefly closes her eyes, the image of them kissing at school weeks ago when she and Ivy caught them flashes up in her head; indelibly clear.

Shane resurfaces triumphant, with a bottle of what she thinks is whiskey and two glasses, slamming them on the counter, the sudden noise refocuses her.

“My dad’s favourite single-malt,” he says, reading the label and pouring with practised ease. “He likes his charitable causes!” he winks, turning to the sink opposite, topping up the loss with water. “Such a benevolent soul.”

“Fine, fuck it,” she announces, taking the glass from him when it’s offered.

“Careful,” Shane warns. “It has a kick.”

They clink their glasses in an empty toast, and then drink at the same time. Her adventures with alcohol aren’t that extensive, but she does know that cheap liquor is universally terrible. Shane was right; tasting it almost takes her breath. A ‘kick’ is a bit of an understatement. She coughs a little, and he pats her back, laughing.

“Jesus Christ!” she splutters, between coughs.

“Told you!”

But then, it gets better. There isn’t much left in the glass, but the second taste is nicer than the first. The burn is less harsh; and the warmth that follows, coating her throat settles deliciously. It tastes of honey, vanilla, deep and malty, and lots of things she can’t begin to describe right now, beyond the fact they’re just really _good_. This time, she’s the one doing the bold glass slamming. Her whole body feels boosted suddenly. He wasn’t lying when he called it liquid courage.

“Let’s do this!”

The Syzzr profile was ridiculous. The dates were ridiculous. This plan of Shane’s is infinitely more ridiculous than either of those things. She’s not nearly drunk enough for this, but after that, why should she play fair? Karma’s not. Karma never has been.

“That’s my girl!” he crows, punching the air and looking incredibly pleased with himself.

She remembers Piper when she gets back from the SHU, striding confidently toward Alex, taking her hand and dragging her toward that prison chapel. If she’s going to break the hold that Liam has over her, then she has to channel some of Piper Chapman’s steel.

It’s all or nothing.

***

She returns to the focus of the party, arms up, half walking, half dancing her way across the room, waiting for someone to catch her eye. That whiskey has worked its magic; loosening her up that last little bit so her mind’s tipped over from that morose, introspective bullshit she’s been working through all night to that happy, light stage that she rarely hits. Right now, everything feels good, and the super loud dance music that’s playing – all sexy and bass heavy is the best thing she’s ever heard. She tries to place the name, but it floats from her mind as soon as she remembers it.

Somehow, the fact she _knows_ Karma is watching her – she can feel it – makes it even better. She’s been ditched for most of the night, so why should she care about doing the same now? Liam will take great joy in kissing it better.

Shane was right. She needs this control. She wants it.

It feels weird, scoping other girls out; testing for some spark of interest when all she has to go on is whether she finds them pretty or not. Is she supposed to have a type, like Shane says, or is this is it more about who will irritate Karma the most? That’s Soleil of course, and that’s not happening, because the longer that girl talks, the uglier she becomes. Amy couldn’t flirt with her if she downed that keg the football team are standing guard around. Should she not die from alcohol poisoning, it’d be a cold day in hell before anything would happen between them. A _very_ cold day.

(If she’s honest, maybe she and Karma have similar odds)

Except, when she loses sight of Karma, she doesn’t feel so in control anymore.

“Hey Dandelion.”

Her breath hitches. She’s only just has enough space to turn around, but there, right in front of her, with some girls she doesn’t know, is Jasmine.

“Sorry,” Jasmine laughs, and all she can think is it’s kind of beautiful. “I couldn’t resist."

Jasmine from Syzzr. Jasmine. Kelly. From. Syzzr. Is. Here.

For a few moments, she can’t speak. Half of her is wondering how the _fuck_ Shane pulled this off, and the other half of her is totally blindsided by Jasmine’s outfit. She’s dressed like Foxy Brown, as in the kickass bitch that made Pam Grier cooler than cool, and there’s a whole lot more skin on show than during their date.

She doesn’t know whether to kill Shane or kiss him. Maybe both. It’s like divine inspiration or divine intervention. She doesn’t send up prayers often these days, but she throws one up now, because at least Jasmine won’t laugh at her if she says something stupid. No, that’s not right, she _will_ laugh because she’s sweet and kind, and the only other person who knows how big a number this thing with Karma is doing on her.

“Wow, you look amazing!”

What her brain actually wants to say is that Jasmine’s abs are amazing and her boobs look amazing, and she wants to thank the inventor of crop tops, hot pants and knee-high boots because _God_ she’s so hot, and her hair looks awesome like that. Shane is going to have to reassess his label of ‘super cute.’ It’s seriously underselling her.

Thank _God_ no one hears what’s going on in her head. It might be the gayest thing she’s ever thought.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Jasmine smiles.

She laughs, because that’s clearly a lie. Jasmine looks like a _goddess_ , and she looks terrible. Unless she has a thing for WASP-ish, self-absorbed blondes, then Amy’s hit the jacket pot in her flirting mission.

“It was Karma’s idea,” she reveals needlessly, hating how much she has to yell to make herself heard.

“I figured. I met her already.” Jasmine laughs, moving closer and touching Amy’s arm. “She’s pretty convincing.”

She freezes, the same panic as when she was with Oliver surges back up, and her buzzed little mood killed stone dead. Jasmine means Karma makes a convincing Alex, she has to? Right. How could she possibly know anything else? What if Shane told her? What if this whole party is one massive conspiracy to out them both, or, out her a lesbian and Karma as a pathological liar? Shane and Lauren could’ve teamed up to destroy them both. Ever since that party at the start of the school year, he’s been fixated on them and their supposed “lesbian energy.”

“Totally,” she covers badly.

“I get it now,” Jasmine purrs, in this sultry little way, right in Amy’s ear. She shudders at it. “I’ve watched you together, and not together, all night.”

“It’s complicated,” she flounders, nervous at how close they are, not sure where to put her hands when Jasmine’s own thread loosely around her neck.

It feels a lot hotter in this room all of a sudden.

“Like I said, I get it,” Jasmine looks at her pointedly. “You want her, badly.”

“It’s not … I don’t … I’m not,” she babbles, trying to defend herself against nothing.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

“She’s a tease, and you want to make her jealous. You want to make her hurt as much a seeing her with that Cullen guy hurts you. He’s the meathead boyfriend, right?”

She just nods, letting herself move that little bit closer to Jasmine, because it’s sort of true and sort of not. They haven’t been very ‘secret’ tonight.

“You have to put up with all her shit when he does her wrong or does shit she doesn’t understand. You’re the one who picks up the pieces. Every. Damn. Time.”

Eventually, Jasmine takes Amy’s hands, settling them on her waist. It’s odd at first, like when Karma first guided her hands there weeks ago, but the fear soon goes. It feels right.

She’s never considered it that way before, but it’s true. She’s invisible to Karma because she’s always been there, for the good and the bad. Dependable, kind, loyal Amy: who holds her and wipes her tears away when she’s upset; takes care of her when she’s sick; who stays up talking with her about nothing until it’s light and they drag themselves to school heavy-limbed with no sleep. Lately those tears have been about Liam, but there were many, _many_ times before that when she’s taken care of her after someone or something has hurt her. Whether that’s been her family; her first heartbreak thanks to Stevie Osborne in eighth grade; protecting her from the tyranny of Brooke Foster and her evil horde since forever; or nursing her through a very painful crush on Luke Wyatt, the lifeguard at their local pool that had barely resolved before they started at Hester.

She’d do anything for her, and the saddest part is, she’s not sure Karma would go to the same lengths for her, not anymore.

“She should be crazy about you. She looks half in love with you, trust me, but girls like her only want you when they can’t have you,” Jasmine reaches, pushing away a lock of hair that’s fallen into Amy’s eyes. “So,” she begins, right in her ear. “I’m just borrowing you. Don’t freak out, OK?”

“About what?” her brows furrow in confusion.

“This,” Jasmine breathes.

She gets where this is going a second or so too late, right when Jasmine’s hands drop to cradle her face, lips brushing against her own. It feels like it’s happening to someone else, so for the first few moments, she forgets to kiss back; her brain caught in a loop that starts to scream ‘Karma can see this’ before shifting into ‘Another girl is kissing you’ even louder. She ignores both, finally kissing back, surprised when she’s the one that surges forward and deepens it. Jasmine tastes different to Karma. Jasmine feels different to Karma. Jasmine doesn’t pull away like Karma. Eager and fascinated, she follows every twist and turn of Jasmine’s head; kissing and kissing and kissing. Jasmine’s fingers thread into Amy’s hair, tugging slightly, and she gasps into her mouth.

Then, as quickly as it began, it’s over, and Jasmine’s pulling away.

“Mission accomplished,” she smiles, fixing Amy’s hair.

“That … um,” is all she can manage, touching her fingertips to her mouth.

“It’s cool,” Jasmine shrugs, leaning close. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Now, she remembers where is, because Karma is to her left, looking caught between shock, surprise and something else. She steels herself, waiting to be slapped, or for this to descend into some dramatic confrontation. Karma doesn’t have a temper like her, it takes a lot to make her angry, but Amy knows the signs, and they aren’t what she was expecting. There’s no screaming, there’s no ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ There’s nothing. Somehow, that’s worse.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” she offers weakly, needing to fill the silence with something.

It seems stupid to be apologising, because they don’t have any moral ties to each other, she’s not actually in a relationship and anyway, she’s been made painfully aware of how not monogamous it would be if they were, so she’s not even sorry. It worked. Karma’s here. She has her undivided attention for the first time in weeks. The fact that part of her is happy about it is supremely fucked up. There’s this weird charge in the air, and somehow, without moving at all, Amy’s ended up sandwiched between them. Everyone in the room is watching them, waiting for something.

“Looked like a pretty hot kiss to me, babe,” It’s subtle, but she can hear the anger and the bitterness laced in Karma’s voice. Mostly, she just looks hurt and disappointed. This isn’t nearly as fun as she thought it would be. “Full of surprises, aren’t you, Aims?” Karma says, stroking her cheek.

“She certainly is,” Jasmine replies, teasingly.

“Knows exactly how to turn me on.”

Amy swallows hard, not _quite_ believing what she’s just heard, certain she’s doing that gaping mouth thing Liam was doing earlier on, because she never expected things to take this turn. From the look on Jasmine’s face, she’s not alone in that either. How does she get into situations like this? Weeks ago, she couldn’t gotten this kind of attention if she paid for it, and now she’s caught between two people – two girls – one of which she’s pretty much hopelessly in love with, but has zero chance of realising that love, and the other? Well, in a ideal world they’d probably be dating each other, because to quote Shane, Jasmine is the perfect ‘training wheels’ girlfriend.

Things never work out how she imagines.

“I love watching her with other girls,” Karma’s voice hits this particular pitch that she’s never heard. It’s hot, and she’s so incredibly turned on, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Seeing her let go like that drives me kind of crazy. She’s so sensible usually.”

She looks between them, growing more panicked, wondering when the balance – whatever that balance is – will tip. She silently pleads with Jasmine to stop riling Karma. She could grab Karma right now, lay claim, right in front of Liam and end this, but then, Karma does it for her. Her arm slides around Amy’s waist, pulling her closer, in that same possessive way Soleil did to Liam. In the process, Amy’s shirt lifts, and Karma’s fingertips briefly brush her skin. When her breath hitches at the contact, and Karma looks up at her, smiling smugly, she knows it was done on purpose.

This has to end. Now. The truth could do it, but it’s just too unwieldy and dangerous. She doesn’t want to confess love to Karma like this, drunk and in front of half the school. They’ve had enough private moments played out in public. She doesn’t want to confess love to Karma at all, but the harder she tries to suppress her feelings, the stronger they’ve gotten. Shane. Shane can give her an out from this, just like with Oliver. She scans the room, desperate to find him when he emerges from the hallway, drink in his hand. It takes him altogether too long to spot her, smack in the middle of some very real lesbian drama. His eyes widen, mouthing a ‘holy shit!’ at her, grinning. She shakes her head, silently pleading for him to help her out like he has so many times before.

“Amazing what a little liquor can do,” Jasmine says, with a smirk. “Better take care of her.”

It sounds vaguely like a threat, and Karma seems to take it as one.

“I intend to,” Karma says, steely. “Know just what my girl likes.”

“Uh-huh, so do I,” Jasmine fires back. “Just in case you want some other options, sometime,” she finishes, sliding a piece of paper into Amy’s pocket.

Amy laughs nervously, watching Shane weave across the room toward the DJ and whispering something to him, feeling Karma’s grip on her tighten. Possession is nine tenths of the law. Jasmine winks at her, backing away to re-join her friends. They embrace her, whispering and smiling in her direction.

Mission accomplished.

As soon as the song starts, and the whole room starts to cheer, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all the songs in all the world, he’s picked Kelis’ ‘Milkshake.’ He turns to her, giving an incredibly dorky double thumbs up, and if she wasn’t stuck in Karma’s death grip, she’d go over there and slap him across his pretty, meddling little face. She’ll kill him in exactly three minutes and three seconds when the song is over, if only to hold off Karma’s inquisition about Jasmine. She’s dressed for jail, after all.

“Oh God,” she murmurs, letting out a shaky breath. “Shane, I hate you.”

Why do people keep planning things behind her back and just expect her go along with them. Why does she feel like the puppet, and there are forty-five people moving her this way and that trying to pull at her strings?

“Listen “Karma declares, practically purring, pressing a hand to Amy’s chest. “They’re playing our song, Pipes!”

Karma’s going to make her do it. Karma’s going to have them re-enact the whole dance scene. Except, no one’s here to cart her off to SHU at the end for ‘lesbian activity.' The fact Shawn Lowes is dressed as Pornstache – and they’ve been avoiding him all night because all he’s done is leer – doesn’t really count.

“Come on, kid,” Karma says, still keeping up the Alex ruse. “Dance with me. You remember it?” she continues, taking Amy’s hands and pulling her into the centre of the room.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, mostly to herself. Karma’s whole face lights up.

They’re a little out of time with the song now, but it doesn’t matter. People are lapping it up anyway. Karma made them practice this damn dance every night since she agreed to be her Piper, so it’s mostly muscle memory. After a few moments of awkwardness, she gets into it, losing herself. Karma’s smile and enthusiasm are kind of infectious. Karma’s laughter is the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard, after her singing of course. She finds herself laughing now, when they start to mess up the steps, bumping into each other. Eventually, other people start to join in and phones come out to capture the moment, and it feels like she’s smack bang in the middle of a very weird flash mob, but it’s amazing. They have power. They matter.

When she finally tears her eyes away from Karma, she sees Shane, standing on a chair to get a better view, shouting himself hoarse chanting “Karma, Amy. Karma, Amy,” just like he did at the rally. She shakes her head, smiling at him. Resistance is futile. He’ll get them together or he’ll die trying.

None of what happened earlier on matters now. She’s not thinking about how much she hates Liam or how bad she feels for bailing on Oliver. She’s not thinking about the fifty clones of Soleil that may or may not think she’s cute that she can use to make Karma jealous. She’s not even thinking about Jasmine and _that_ kiss. All that’s on her mind is Karma. All that’s in her vision is Karma, and she’s beckoning her closer with a come hither finger, smiling.

She follows obediently, drunk on the sight of her, letting Karma’s body press close to hers, as she sings the song back to her – the lyrics are filthier than she ever remembers them being when they’re coming out of Karma’s mouth. That strange charge is back, only this time; neither of them is fighting it. Karma wanted her to let go, and it’s taken a long time, but it’s finally happening. She’s silenced that good girl in her head who’s terrified of what she feels and what she wants because of who she might hurt if she dares to let herself take some of it. They’re close enough to kiss now, and she’s so, _so_ incredibly tempted to do it, watching Karma intently as she dances, rising and falling in front of her; hips swaying.

When Karma rises for the second time, smiling at her devilishly, eyes dark with something she’s never seen before, she turns her around, breaking the rules and taking over Alex’s part in the dance. She catches hold of those hips, relishing the contact when Karma rocks back against her, hands grasping for purchase. Her own hands move up, ghosting the outline of Karma’s body, lifting the hair off her neck. Karma lets out a shuddering breath, something vaguely like “yes” drifts from her lips, and it’s enough. It’s enough to get Amy to step over that last blurry line of what’s good and bad, right and wrong, and just give in and risk everything. If not now, when? She closes her eyes, tilts her head down and presses her lips gently to Karma’s neck, tracing a path downwards. Karma’s hand flies up, grabbing the back of her head, and then they’re kissing in this reckless, greedy way as they grind against each other. They’ve never gone this far before with their PDA, and the whole place erupts with cheers and applause.

Cutting through everything is Liam’s ear-piercing whistle. Her eyes snap open and she lets go of Karma, backing away. The spell is broken, and she’s jolted back to reality, he’s been standing right in front of them the whole time. It’s been for _him_ the whole time.

She sobers immediately. It’s a huge slap in the face.

The assembled crowd starts to boo and hiss in dissent, sad that the show is over.

“I’m a fucking idiot!” she mutters. “How could I be so fucking stupid?”

She should’ve known. It’s never just about her and Karma. Not anymore.

There it is again: that white-hot flash of rage coursing through her. She pushes her way through the mass of bodies, ignoring people when they look at her strangely. Full of “ what the fuck?” and “watch where you’re going!” She needs to get out. Nothing stops her, not even when Karma calls her name in this worried, desperate way, or when it’s Shane, full of concern. She ignores everything, rushing out into the hallway, colliding with a coat stand before she rounds stairs, gripping tight to the rail, running up them two at a time. Suddenly, she feels sick and she can’t breathe; her chest feels tight, like her lungs are much too small. When her vision starts to blur, and hot tears streak down her cheeks, she swats at them angrily.

“Amy please, wait!” Karma calls out, racing up after her.

“I just need some space, please?” she protests, shirking Karma’s touch when she tries to grab hold of her arm. “Please.”

She thinks about her phone in her pocket, and the text she never sent. It’s truer now than it was before.

_I don’t think I can fake it anymore. This is hurting too much. I want my best friend back …_

At the top of the landing, she turns to face Karma, looking down at her from where she stands three stairs below. “We’re done,” she says, simply. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait what?” Karma asks, confused.

“You heard,” she replies, flatly.

“Amy don’t. Don’t do this. We can fix it. We don’t need to break-up.” Karma pleads, drawing level with her. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

She looks up at the ceiling, fighting back tears. “You. Me. Everything,” she answers, with a shrug. That doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh God!” she cries in frustration, turning away from her before she loses her temper and says too much. “I’m over it, OK? I’m over all of it.”

How can she not know?

Before Karma can say anything else, she marches toward the nearest room, slamming the door behind her, blocking out the sound of the music and the chatter downstairs.

It takes her a few seconds to realise the room she’s walked into is Shane’s. She crosses to the window, looking down at the street; forcing herself to take deeper breaths, praying for her heart to stop racing. It does, a little. Something about being in here is calming. Maybe it’s because she’s surrounded by everything Shane, but maybe it’s because she’s finally away from everyone else. Then, she remembers it, his famous photo collage. Just as he once told her, she and Karma are prominently displayed; posing for him on the day they became co-queens. It feels like a long time ago. It’s something of a surprise to see he hasn’t laid out rose petals for them on the bed, he’d do something like that, so sappy and cliché, because he cares. He cares too much. He cares as much as her. All week, he’s been trying to convince her that this party would be a game changer for her and Karma. He was right, in his own way; this is the day she’s reached the end of her very long rope. She starts to laugh, but it’s empty and bitter. Too quickly, her vision starts to blur and that laughter turns to tears.

They’re a long time coming.

***

Nothing happens for what feels like a long time, and she finds herself turning everything over in her head, trying to see what she could’ve done differently and how she can salvage things. All she’s managed to do is make herself feel worse and her stomach is in knots. The tears were a release, but not nearly enough to go back out there and play the dutiful girlfriend. She’s not sure if she can ever do that again. She’s even less sure if she can face Karma. They always give each other a cooling off period, but she can sense movement; see shadows from the thin crack of light between the door and the plush carpet, so she knows Karma’s still outside.

Karma wants the truth, but she doesn’t think either of them are ready to hear it, so she thinks about pitching for the middle ground; the no man’s land between truth and lies. They already know it well. They’ve walked the path to it repeatedly. It’s not really a lie, she reminds herself, watching as Karma gingerly opens the door, peeking her head around and smiling a sad, sad smile. This isn’t really a lie, it’s an omission. Some things are better left unsaid. She’s just protecting herself. It’s for the good of everyone involved.

“Hey,” Karma says softly. “Are you OK?”

She didn’t expect her to be so kind. She expected her to fly in; full of accusations, but the fact she’s not just makes her uneasy. It makes her wonder if Karma knows more than she lets on.

“I don’t think we can talk this out Karm,” she sniffs, turning to face her. “I just need some space. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Aims,” Karma replies, carefully moving closer, afraid she might start. “Are you freaked out because of what happened?” she’s talking in this calm, careful voice like Amy is something dangerous and fragile. “I get it, I mean, it was really intense,” Karma puffs out a breath, “but you know, it happens. It’s a party, people do weird shit. It’s fine.”

“Weird shit?” she exclaims. “Is that what you want to call that?”

Karma blinks back surprise, crossing her arms defensively. “What do you want to call it? God, I hate when you clam up like this!” she steps closer, her eyes glistening with tears. “You used to be able to tell me everything.”

Karma’s right, she did. Not so long ago, Karma knew everything about her. The good, the bad and everything in between, but now there’s this huge secret between them, one she’s terrified of telling. She wants to tell her, she really does, if only to lessen the weight she’s been carrying, but she just _can’t_.

Everything she thinks of betrays too much. About Syzzr and her lame ass attempts at flirting, About how she’s not faking it at all and she really _really_ likes kissing girls. Everything she thinks of will hurt Karma more and fuck things up between them even more than they already are. Things like how much she’s wanted to kiss Karma like that ever since they walked in here, how she wants to stop faking it and do this for real, how Liam _fucking_ Booker doesn’t love her, he loves the idea of her. Things like, that she, Amy Leigh Raudenfeld, loves Karma Tanvi Ashcroft with everything she has. Faults and all.

“It’s…” she wants to say complicated. That her head is a mess and her heart is even worse, but she doesn’t dare, “I don’t know …” she trails off, weakly.

“What _do_ you know then?!” Karma asks, there’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before. “You just kissed the hell out of me before, and you’re making out with random girls and getting their phone numbers, what the _hell_ Amy?” Karma reaches into her pocket and unfolds a square of paper. It’s the paper that Jasmine gave her. “Who’s this Jasmine, chick anyway? Did you drink so much you forgot whose girlfriend you’re meant to be?”

Cornered, literally and figuratively when Karma closes the distance between them, waving the paper under her nose, she says the first thing that comes into her head.

“Fuck you!” she snaps. “At least I was getting hit on by the right gender! I saw you, Karma, _everyone_ saw. You were all over him, and you couldn’t have been less discreet if you tried!”

They’re in each other’s faces, screaming at each other and she doesn’t really know why.

“Oh, God forbid I talk to someone who isn’t you!” Karma fires back, angrily. “You know I like Liam. He’s why we’re doing this.”

“As if I could forget! You never shut up about him!” she scoffs. “You do a lot more than talk, and I get to hear about it, in detail, whenever you remember you’re supposed to be my best friend.”

She stops short of saying that Soleil does a lot more than talk with Liam too, and she’s got a genuine fear that Karma will end up with some horrible STD because she’s not _actually_ that vindictive.

“And? I’m sorry I left you by yourself but things are changing between Liam and I. I can feel it. He was really starting to open up to me tonight. We’re getting closer.”

“Great,” she smiles, thin and tight. “Makes it all worth it then.”

“What about Oliver? I saw that too!”

“Good,” she yells. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, you and geek boy looked real cosy.”

She just watches Karma for a moment, getting a perverse thrill out of the fact that she can be jealous too. It’s about time.

“I like Oliver. I like his attention. He actually listens when I talk, so don’t you dare judge me.”

“No,” Karma huffs, “little Miss Judgey would be you.”

“Why do you get to have the secret boyfriend and play at being America’s lesbian sweethearts with me and I get nothing?!” she sighs. “It’s always about you. You wanted to do this, you talked me into it!”

Karma flinches at that last bit, looking hurt.

“You wanna try saying that louder?” Karma glares, gesturing to the open door, “Half the school didn’t hear you!”

“I don’t care!” she yells, her voice breaking. “I don’t care about them. I don’t care about being homecoming queens. I don’t care about being _fucking_ Karmy anymore, OK? I’m sick and tired of doing what everyone else wants,” she continues, on the verge of tears as she crosses to sit on Shane’s bed. “How stupid do you think they are anyway? They’ll figure it out soon.”

She means to stop there, because she’s already said too much and Karma isn’t saying anything at all, but she can’t seem to. She can’t find it in herself to hold back anymore. Karma wanted to know what’s wrong. A lot of things are wrong.

“You wanted to be popular. You wanted to get Liam Booker. You have the kindest, most understanding parents ever. Congratulations! You won, Karma! I hope you’re fucking happy, because I’m not, I’m fucking miserable. I wish we’d never started this. I just want to be like it was before.”

Her whole rambling speech is addressed to Karma’s boots – hers, borrowed. When the bed dips and Karma sits down next to her, she finally dares to look up.

“What are we doing, Amy?” Karma says, simple and sad.

The fight’s gone out of them both.

She doesn’t know if Karma means right now or ever since they started faking it. Maybe all of it. The look in her eyes is somehow more painful than everything they’ve said to each other. It strikes her, hard, clean and quick in the chest. Karma’s sadness hurts her more than anyone else’s, and even now, she aches to fix it; to be the source of her happiness.

“I don’t know,” she answers, and this time, she means it.

There’s always been a plan; some set of steps to follow that Karma reels off with excitement, but now, there’s nothing, it’s just the two of them in this room, alone together. She can’t remember the last time it was like this. She’s missed it.

“I’m so sorry, Aims.”

It’s so sincere, that it hurts her in a different way.

“Me too,” she replies, watching as Karma’s hand slides across the duvet, covering hers. “Me too.”

“You’ve got my attention now, OK? Talk to me. Talk at me,” Karma encourages. “I don’t like to see you like this. Let’s just stay here for a while, just us. I miss my Amy time.”

She nods shyly, letting out a long, unsteady breath.

Wordlessly, Karma pulls her into a hug. Everything doesn’t feel so bad anymore.

Weirdly, she saw more of Karma before this whole faking it mess started. In becoming Karma’s ‘girlfriend’ she lost her best friend, and neither of them expected that to happen. Sure, Karma’s been off with Liam for a lot of the time, but they’re both equally guilty of creating the feeling of distance that’s often coming between them. She’s been hanging out with Shane more too. He’s been helping her through things like some little gay spirit guide, but she’d be lying if seeking him out wasn’t to distract herself from the fact that Karma isn’t there and doesn’t need her as much as she used to. Selfish, perhaps, but she’s not sure if it’s something that she’ll ever be able to get used to, no matter what happens next.

“Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling?” Karma asks, stroking Amy’s hair gently.

“I didn’t want to spoil things,” she begins, offering the easiest answer. Resting her head on Karma’s shoulder, she watches their reflection in the mirror. Somehow it’s easier to talk to her like this.

Mirror Karma (Mirror Alex) is less frightening than the real thing, maybe because she doesn’t have to look her in the eye.

“Amy,” Karma sighs, and now she knows it’s serious. It’s always ‘Aims,’ or ‘Raudenfeld,’ rarely Amy.

“He makes you happy. You’re my best friend, I want you to be happy.”

She means it. She’s never meant anything more, but still, a tear rolls down her cheek unbidden.

Karma pulls away slowly, reluctantly. “I don’t want to be happy if it makes you miserable,” she says earnest, carefully reaching out to brush away Amy’s tears. “I’ve asked so much of you. I didn’t know how much until now. It’s not fair.”

“I guess not,” she admits quietly.

She never imagined faking something would be so involved or become so incredibly real.

“God, why do you even put up with me?” Karma declares, with a laugh.

“Because no one else would,” she smiles, looking Karma in right in the eyes.

What she really wants to say is ‘Because I love you,’ but somehow, she manages not to. The truth sits on the tip of her tongue; waiting to betray her.

“Think you can put up with me for a little longer?” Karma asks, cautiously.

“I think so,” she replies, not really knowing why she’s given in so easily, and knowing exactly why all at once.

“Come be my little spoon,” Karma says, with a small smile, patting the bed.

She groans. “I’m tired of games, Karma.” The role-play isn’t as fun as it was a few hours ago. “I can’t be your little spoon, I’m taller than you,” she points out.

“Way to ruin the moment,” Karma whines.

And just like that, they’re back. They’re Karma and Amy again, and it feels OK. It feels normal. If there was more of this and less of everything else, she could survive and keep her head above water for just a little longer. If it were anyone else doing the asking, she would’ve walked away long ago. That’s love, she supposes, putting someone’s happiness before your own.

“Just lie with me then? I need a minute …” Karma trails off. “It’s just exhausting sometimes with everyone watching, you know?” she continues, taking off her glasses and hooking them into the pocket of her top.

She nods in agreement, relieved that at least they still feel the same about some parts of all this.

After the night they’ve had, she can’t find in it herself to refuse. They both scoot back, settling against Shane’s pillows, falling into an easy silence. The bed is comfortable, so comfortable in fact, that if she’s not careful, she’ll fall asleep. She hasn’t been getting much of that lately. They still have their late night Skype sessions, but more often than not, Shane is her conversation partner instead of Karma. She’s had a few terrifying moments when she’s taken to typing instead of talking, and almost told Karma everything.

Karma’s hand moves across the crisp, fresh linen, sliding atop Amy’s. Neither of them say anything when she laces their fingers together, holding tight. She keeps her eyes fixed on Shane’s ceiling, imagining there are stars there. If she’s honest, this is all she’s ever wanted: someone to share in the quiet and the stillness. Someone to make her feel less alone and less insignificant. Karma’s always done that, and she’s glad that for everything that’s changing between them, some things stay the same. It’s a pure thing. A good thing. A real thing, and one that no one else can understand, not even Shane.

***

They lie together like that for a while, listening to the music drifting up from downstairs, neither really feeling the need to speak. When Karma motions for her to come closer, she doesn’t fight it, laying her head on Karma’s chest, letting Karma stroke her hair; her fingertips winding and unwinding around small sections. It’s making her sleepy, lulling her to a calm and lowering her defences like it always has. If Karma keeps doing it, she could admit things; secret, dangerous things that she can’t take back.

She didn’t quite grasp it the first time they watched, but now she understands what Piper means when she says that Alex is inevitable to her. All she got was that Alex and Piper’s relationship was manipulative and toxic, she didn’t understand why Piper did everything she did. As soon as she and Karma kissed in the gym, she understood. It wasn’t about good or bad, right or wrong, it was about feeling so connected to someone else, so enamoured by them, that you’d do anything to keep that alive. Karma is the same. She’s drawn to her inexpiably, moth to flame. She turns on her side, watching Karma’s profile, mouthing the line to herself, not quite brave enough to say it out loud. Yet. If ever. The love she feels hasn’t always been like this. Falling in love with her has been a gradual awakening, but loving her is something she’s always known. That’s what makes this so hard.

“Amy?”

She lifts her head slightly, “Hmm?”

“You know before, when you were upset?” Karma asks carefully.

“Yeah?” she replies, cautiously.

“Was it,” Karma stalls, sounding nervous, “was it because you felt something when we kissed?”

She swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “It was just a moment, Karm, I got caught up,” she says, unwrapping herself from Karma’s embrace, shifting backwards. “It was nothing.”

It’s a weak explanation, and Karma sees through it immediately.

“We have a lot of moments, don’t we?”

Too afraid to say anything, she closes the scant space between them and carefully brushes back Karma’s hair, cradling her face in unsteady hands. She’s going to do this, she’s going to kiss her, for real, no faking, for once and maybe for all and she wants it to be Karma she feels and Karma she touches not Alex. In the end, it’s one deliberate press of her lips against Karma’s instead of the long, passionate kisses she so often dreams of.

There’s no going back now.

“It’s OK,” Karma assures gently when Amy pulls away. “It’s OK,” Karma repeats, looking at her with such tenderness that Amy feels like crying.

Then, Karma kisses her. It’s different to every other time they’ve done it; soft and lingering, just like she imagined, but it’s more and better because it’s real. She can feel the warmth of Karma’s lips and her breath and it’s intoxicating. She surges forward, kissing back harder when Karma deepens it, her tongue sliding tentatively into Amy’s mouth. This is different too. Different to the greedy, breathless way they kissed each other during their dance.

When Karma pulls away, smiling shyly, Amy realises why. That wasn’t fake. Karma meant it.

“I heart you,” Karma says, quiet and awed.

“I heart you … too,” she replies, quieter still.

She said it. Kind of. And the world is still turning. There’s no lightning strike, no hellmouth suddenly opening up in the floor. All there is is Karma looking at her like she’s seeing her for the first time. They aren’t Piper and Alex anymore. They aren’t even Karmy. They’re Karma and Amy.

“I’m tired of games too,” Karma whispers.

She blinks back surprise, not sure where all this is coming from. “What do you mean?”

What she really wants to ask it what it means for her and Liam, but she doesn’t dare.

“You’re the only one that really cares, Amy. You’re the only one that’s _ever_ cared. I’ve been so stupid.”

“Karm,” she whimpers, convinced that this is the start of a ‘let her down gently' speech.

“Let me finish,” Karma interrupts, smiling a little. “I don’t know what this all means, and it’s driving me nuts because I’m so confused and I’ve hurt you so much while I’ve been trying to figure things out.”

“But?” she ventures, heart in her throat.

“I want to do that figuring out with you, Amy. I mean, if you want to?”

There it is again, that shy, soft Karma she thought had gone away a long time ago when they weren’t allowed to need each other anymore.

“Is this real?”

She didn’t mean to say that out loud, and she glances away, embarrassed, flushing instantly. Karma reaches, tilting Amy’s head back toward her.

“Yes,” Karma laughs, capturing Amy’s lips in another kiss. “Yes,” and another. “Yes,” and another. “When you hurt, it hurts me too, and I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Karma kisses her again, soft but deliberate. It lingers far longer than the rest, as if she’s trying to prove herself to Amy and make her believe this is real. All it takes is one look in Karma’s eyes and she knows they can do this. It’ll take time – a lot – to figure out who they are and what they are to each other; she’s always known that. But, there’s another more important question: where does she end and where does Karma begin? Now, more than ever, it feels like they’re one and the same.

It _was_ better when they were invisible, but now they’re brave enough to try at being visible, they could be so much more.


End file.
